Songs and Ballads of the Southern People: 1861-1865. Various

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The Briton boasts his coat of red, With lace and spangles decked; In garb of green the French are seen, With gaudy colors flecked; The Yankees strut in dingy blue, And epaulets display; Our Southern girls more proudly view The uniform of gray. That dress is worn by gallant hearts Who every foe defy, Who stalwart stand, with battle-brand, To conquer or to die! They fight for freedom, hope and home, And honor’s voice obey, And proudly wear where’er they roam The uniform of gray. What though ’tis stained with crimson hues, And dim with dust and smoke, By bullets torn, and rent and shorn By many a hostile stroke; The march, the camp, the bivouac, The onset and the fray But only serve more dear to make The uniform of gray. When wild war’s tiger-strife is past, And liberty restored; When independence reigns at last, By valor’s arm secured; The South will stand, erect and grand, And loftiest honors pay To those who bore her flag, and wore The uniform of gray. And woman’s love, man’s best reward, Shall cluster round their path, And soothe and cheer the volunteer Who dared the foeman’s wrath. Bright wreaths she’ll bring, and roses fling Around his triumph-way, And long in song thy fame prolong Old uniform of gray.

      

      “WE CONQUER OR DIE.”

      BY JAMES PIERPONT.

The war drum is beating, prepare for the fight, The stern bigot Northman exults in his might, Gird on your bright weapons, your foemen are nigh; Let this be our watchword, “We conquer or die!” The trumpet is sounding from mountain to shore, Your swords and your lances must slumber no more, Fling forth to the sunlight your banner on high, Inscribed with the watchword, “We conquer or die!” March to the battlefield, there do or dare, With shoulder to shoulder, all danger to share, And let your proud watchword ring up to the sky, Till the blue arch re-echoes “We conquer or die!” Press forward undaunted, nor think of retreat, The enemy’s host on the threshold to meet; Strike firm till the foeman before you shall fly, Appalled by the watchword, “We conquer or die!” Go forth in the pathway our forefathers trod; We, too, fight for freedom—our Captain is God; Their blood in our veins, with their honor we vie, Theirs, too, was the watchword, “We conquer or die!” We strike for the South—mountain, valley and plain— For the South we will conquer again and again; Her day of salvation and triumph is nigh, Ours, then, be the watchword, “We conquer or die!”

      SONS OF FREEDOM.

      BY NANNY GRAY.

Sons of freedom, on to glory Go, where brave men do or die, Let your names in future story Gladden every patriot’s eye; ’Tis your country calls you, hasten! Backward hurl the invading foe; Freemen never think of danger,— To the glorious battle go! Oh! remember gallant Jackson, Single-handed in the fight, Death-blows dealt the fierce marauder, For his liberty and right; Tho’ he fell beneath their thousands, Who that covets not his fame? Grand and glorious, brave and noble, Henceforth shall be Jackson’s name. Sons of freedom, can you linger When you hear the battle’s roar, Fondly dallying with your pleasures When the foe is at your door? Never! no! we fear no idlers, “Death or freedom”’s now the cry, ’Till the stars and bars, triumphant, Spread their folds to every eye. Richmond Whig.

      “CALL ALL! CALL ALL!”

      BY “GEORGIA.”

Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose, Roaring round like the very deuce! Lice of Egypt, a hungry pack,— After ’em, boys, and drive ’em back. Bull-dog, terrier, cur, and fice, Back to the beggarly land of ice; Worry ’em, bite ’em, scratch and tear Everybody and everywhere. Old Kentucky is caved from under, Tennessee is split asunder, Alabama awaits attack, And Georgia bristles up her back. Old John Brown is dead and gone! Still his spirit is marching on,— Lantern-jawed, and legs, my boys, Long as an ape’s from Illinois! Want a weapon? Gather a brick, Club or cudgel, or stone or stick; Anything with a blade or butt, Anything that can cleave or cut. Anything heavy, or hard, or keen! Any sort of slaying machine! Anything with a willing mind, And the steady arm of a man behind. Want a weapon? Why, capture one! Every Doodle has got a gun, Belt, and bayonet, bright and new; Kill a Doodle, and capture two! Shoulder to shoulder, son and sire! All, call all! to the feast of fire! Mother and maiden, and child and slave, A common triumph or a single grave. Rockingham, Va., Register.

      THE ORDERED AWAY.

       Dedicated to the Oglethorpe and Walker Light Infantries.

      BY MRS. J. J. JACOBUS.

At the end of each street, a banner we meet, The people all march in a mass, But quickly aside, they step back with pride, To let the brave companies pass. The streets are dense filled, but the laughter is still’d— The crowd is all going one way; Their cheeks are blanched white, but they smile as they light Lift their hats to the—Ordered away. They smile while the dart deeply pierces their heart, But each eye flashes back the war-glance, As they watch the brave file march up with a smile, ’Neath their flag—with their muskets and lance; The cannon’s loud roar vibrates on the shore, But the people are quiet to-day, As, startled, they see how fearless and free March the companies—Ordered away. Not a quiver or gleam of fear can be seen, Though they go to meet death in disguise; For the hot air is filled with poison distilled ’Neath the rays of fair Florida’s skies. Hark! the drum and fife awake to new life The soldiers who—“Can’t get away;” Who wish, as they wave their hats to the brave, That they were the—Ordered away. As our parting grows near, let us quell back the tear, Let our smiles shine as bright as of yore; Let us stand with the mass, salute as they pass, And weep when we see them no more. Let no tear-drop or sigh dim the light of our eye, Or move from our lips, as they say— While waving our hand to a brave little band— Good-by to the—Ordered away. Let them go, in God’s name, in defense of their fame, Brave death at the cannon’s wide mouth; Let them honor and save the land of the brave, Plant Freedom’s bright flag in the South. Let them go! While we weep, and lone vigils keep, We will bless them, and fervently pray To the God whom we trust, for our cause firm but just, And our loved ones—the Ordered away. When fierce battles storm, we will rise up each morn, Teach our young sons the saber to wield: Should their brave fathers die, we will arm them to fly And fill up the gap in the field. Then, fathers and brothers, fond husbands and lovers, March! march bravely on! We will stay, Alone in our sorrow, to pray on each morrow For our loved ones—the Ordered away. Augusta, Ga., April 2, 1861.

      THE MARTYR OF ALEXANDRIA.

      BY JAMES W. SIMMONS.

Revealed, as in a lightning flash, A Hero stood! The invading foe, the trumpet’s crash, Set up his blood! High o’er the sacred pile that bends Those forms above, Thy Star, O Freedom! brightly blends Its rays with Love. The banner of a mighty race Serenely there Unfurls—the genius of the place, And haunted air! A vow is registered in heaven— Patriot! ’twas thine To guard those matchless colors, given By hand divine. Jackson! thy spirit may not hear The wail ascend! A nation bends above thy bier, And mourns its friend. Thy example is thy monument; In organ tones Thy name resounds, with glory blent, Prouder than thrones! And they whose loss has been our gain— A People’s care Shall win their hearts from pain, And wipe the tear. When time shall set the captive free, Now scathed by wrath, Heirs of his immortality, Bright be their path. Indianola, Texas.

      

      DIXIE.

       Southrons, hear your Country call you!

      BY ALBERT PIKE.

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